


I Knew Him Once

by blustersquall



Series: Cullen Rutherford x Nevena Trevelyan [12]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Death, F/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Red Lyrium, Red Templars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 03:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4463348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blustersquall/pseuds/blustersquall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen reflects on the Templar Carroll he knew at Kinloch Hold after learning he turned to the Red Templars and of his death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Knew Him Once

It took him several minutes to notice Nevena hovering just inside the door to the left of his office. He was wrapped up in reading and rereading her report. The death of Carroll in the Emerald Graves. Someone he had known long ago, a link to the past who had fallen far.

When Cullen saw her, Nevena offered a small albeit weak smile and crossed towards his desk. She stood behind him, drew her fingers up into his hair and began rotating them wordlessly.

The frown he knew was on his face melted, but his troubles weighed heavily on him.

“I read your report.” Cullen told her, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

Her fingers were magic all their own.

_Healing hands_ , he called them.

Since Haven she worked out countless aches and pains from his head and his muscles using only her hands and a slight chill in her finger tips. Even healing magic caused Cullen’s stomach to clench, but Nevena found a way to help him without it.

He felt her lips on his forehead and her fingers slid down to the base of his skull. “Are you alright?”

“Fine.” Cullen lied, sighing. He clenched a fist around the parchment still in his fingers.

Nevena hummed against his skin. “And if you say it with a little more conviction, I may actually believe you.” Cullen's chuckle became a groan of disapproval when Nevena’s hands left his hair. She leaned on his desk beside him, her expression soft. “You are many things Cullen,” Nevena explained, taking his hands and removing his gloves. “But a convincing liar is not one of them.”

Hiding his grimace, Cullen averted his gaze down and watched Nevena’s slender fingers trace the veins and tendons in the back of his hand. For a long time there was companionable silence between them broken only by slow breaths and the occasional low chatter of guards out on their night patrols. Soft conversation neither Cullen or Nevena could make out.

Late at night, Cullen was rarely disturbed. In fact he relished the point past sun down because it meant the usual parade of messengers and scouts finally stopped and he could actually get some work done that required peace and quiet. That was his intention that night, in fact. A large pile of reports and requests that required his deliberation were his focus, but then the report of Carroll’s demise arrived and suddenly Cullen had found himself unable to concentrate.

Nevena stood up from Cullen’s desk, grabbing his attention suddenly. She slipped her fingers through his, warm palm to warm palm and tugged gently. “Want to take a walk with me?” She smiled at him, head tilted to one side.

He noticed she had done something elaborate with her hair, tied it up in a style which was Orlesian or Nevarran or something. The style was lovely, if complicated, and the loose tendrils that hung around her face framed it prettily.

Cullen paid little attention to the details of the style when she told him that morning over the war table. He found himself more focused on her neck, particularly the back of her neck and how exposed it was and how suddenly the back of her neck was a very attractive body part.

“I…” Cullen glanced at the crumbled report and at the pile on his desk. He knew what she was doing, trying to distract him, get him out of his mind for a while and help him clear his head. He needed it, but did not feel like he would be the best company around her, given his current feelings. “I shouldn’t.”

“You  _shouldn’t?”_  Nevena repeated, eyebrow quirking on her face. “Cullen, you’re the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces, you can do what you want… within reason.” She tugged his hand again, “those reports will still be here in half an hour. They aren’t going to spontaneously incinerate while you’re gone.”

He laughed again, a soft noise through his nose and his lips managed to curve into a smile. “Alright.” Cullen rose from his chair, “but if we come back and there’s a suspicious pile of ash on my desk, I’m holding you responsible.”

Quickly, they fell into step with each other, hand-in-hand walking in silence along the stone. Those on night watch duty greeted them with curt nods, and the occasional utterance of their titles. Most of them were too busy crowding around small fires in the burners to pay them much mind. Cullen made a mental note to investigate acquiring more. The cold around Skyhold was biting, especially at night and more so on clear nights without the cloud cover. Their soldiers needed to feel taken care of and more burners would definitely improve their moods.

It was a beautiful night, that Cullen had to admit. One thing that could be said for Skyhold and its location was how breath-taking the views could be. When the sky was clear and there were no clouds, the view of the stars was incredible. Thousands and thousands of tiny, twinkling specks could be seen for miles, a view that Cullen enjoyed through the broken roof of his tower when he tried to sleep.

He developed a habit of drawing his own constellations with his eyes when sleep was difficult. He made up names, and stories behind them. A childish habit, but one that helped to calm his mind after nightmares or distracted him when the lyrium withdrawal was clawing at him.

Nevena knew a handful of constellations, and the stories behind them. They became something of a passion of hers since coming across the strange ancient Astrariums throughout Thedas. A fascination and passion that Cullen enjoyed hearing her talk about.

They were beyond the tavern and on the battlements that over looked the garden when Nevena broke the easy atmosphere between them.

“You said you knew him.” She said, her voice low and her eyes never moving from the direction they were walking.

“Knew him?” Cullen repeated, though he knew whom she meant.

“Carroll.”

His lips twitched to one side and he was glad she wasn’t looking at him so she couldn’t see his unease. “Yes.” Said Cullen after several heartbeats. “A long time ago.”

Nevena dropped his hand and leaned against the parapet, her back to Cullen and peering down into the garden. “Do you want to talk about it?” She glanced over her shoulder, “about him?”

Sighing, Cullen came to her side leaning on the wall beside her, upper arms touching. He felt warm beside her, he always did. Being around her made him tingle. He supposed it was her magic. “It hardly matters.” He spoke, “I knew him ten years ago. I didn’t expect him to be the same person.” Slowly, he pushed a hand through his hair.

He could feel Nevena’s eyes on him, waiting for him to continue in his own time. Patient, quiet, understanding. She never forced him, never pushed him to talk. He knew if he said he had no desire to reminisce about Carroll or the past, she would understand and say nothing else. She would not make a fuss or make him feel guilty.

She understood that some things needed to stay in the past. That thinking about them or discussing them would not make them easier, would not make them better or make the outcomes simpler to understand.

“I didn’t expect him to become involved with red lyrium though.” Admitted Cullen, eyes dropping to the vague patterns in the stone he leaned on. “Carroll was never what you would call  _devoted_  to the Order. He was a Templar, but I never got the impression it was his choice. Or something he took seriously.”

Nevena shifted, turned towards him but stayed silent. He felt her hand on the back of his neck, fingers smoothly stroking through the short strands of hair at his nape.

“He was–” With a sharp exhalation Cullen pushed his hands over his face, muffling a small groan. He had not thought on Carroll for a long time. He did not realise how heavily the knowledge of Carroll working alongside the Red Templars weighed on him. Now he had started talking about it, it was like chipping away at a stone, alleviating a pressure on his back.

“Carroll was a few years older than me when I joined the Order. He’d been a Templar several years but was still of low rank.” Explained Cullen, focusing at the old, worn scars on his hands as he spoke. “He showed myself and other new recruits around the tower when we first arrived. Even after that he kept an eye on us in his own way. He always had a joke or a smart-mouthed comment on hand to help dissipate tension when it arose between us and the mages.” He chuckled wryly. “The mages liked him, the other Templars liked him. He was… a good man.”

“He survived Ferelden’s Circle?” Queried Nevena softly.

Cullen tensed at the question. He froze under her fingers which continued to stroke his hair. Ten years and still the mention of the place brought back memories, made his blood turn to ice and made him forget how to breathe for a few seconds.

His reaction did not go unnoticed.

“I’m sorry,” Nevena moved towards him, “I didn’t mean to… If you don’t want to talk abou-”

“No,” Cullen cut her off, laying one hand over her free one and squeezing her fingers. “He did survive.” Continued Cullen, keeping his eyes forward and urging himself to relax. “As I understand it, he was stationed on the docks at Lake Calenhad, supposedly to prevent anyone else reaching the Circle and risking the abominations escaping. Somehow the Hero of Ferelden got around him. A good thing too, considering.”

Nevena leaned towards him. “You didn’t keep in touch after you were transferred to Kirkwall?”

Shaking his head, Cullen’s breath caught in his throat when he tried to speak. In his stomach swirled the sensation of sickness, thick and heavy like bile. He knew if he didn’t talk about Carroll and the small piece of his history he was connected with now, then he never would. That it would be another thing that haunted him.

When he tried to speak his voice failed him and Cullen felt his throat closing over, as if he was suddenly choking. Clenching his eyes shut, he started swallowing as much air as he could. His chest constricted and he could feel his lungs diminishing in size behind his rib cage. His heart thudded in his ears, rocked painfully in his chest and his nerves felt as if they were on fire, burning him up from the inside.

“Cullen,” Nevena’s voice was calm, firm, barely audible over the heavy drumming of his heart beat in his ears. He felt her cool hand around his face, gently supporting his chin and jaw. A chill rising up over his skin easing away the flames in his mind. “Cullen, look at me.” She ordered him, trying to be gentle but also trying to get through to him. “Open your eyes, focus on me.”

Behind his eyes he could see the cage around him. Long fingers, claws, digging into his mind, burrowing into his deepest, most private thoughts and tormenting him with them. Tempting him with them. He could hear the screams and cries of pain his friends made when the demons and abominations took them one-by-one to the Harrowing chamber. How first they all stayed resolute in their convictions - Templars who would rather die than give in to demons - but how that conviction wavered the fewer of them that remained.

All trapped, all frightened, he had tried to lead them. Tried to rally his comrades. He remembered reciting prayer after prayer in the hopes of a saviour. Demons and Uldred's mages mocked him for his devotion. They tortured his friends before him because of it and made him hear their fright again and again.

Then it was his turn.

Beyond the claws in his mind and the whispers in his ears, there were the worse things they could do. More scars and wounds that were not physical that they could inflict and leave to fester.

“Cullen.” Nevena’s voice broke through the mist of horror. “Look at me, Cullen. You need to look at me.”

He struggled to hear her but he followed her instructions. He forced his eyes open, and found Nevena’s eyes locked on his.

Nevena’s gaze.

Not that of a demon.

Not purple eyes. No long horns, no seductive voice or tempting words, but amber eyes. Wild, fierce, determined. Blonde hair, freckles, two parallel scars over her left eye.

“Deep breath.” Nevena moved the hand he was holding to her chest and took a deep inhale then breathed out. “Like me.” She took another breath, her eyes never leaving his. Acting as a grounding influence, gently guiding him away from  his panic.

For a while, Nevena breathed with him, settling his anxiety and the fear which overtook him. He rarely experienced the nightmares when he was awake, but when they came they were worse than those when he slept. Somehow they were more real, almost tangible.

When he was calmer, Cullen noticed his eyes and cheeks were damp and that his whole body was shaking, wracked with pain.

Nevena enveloped him in her arms and he turned his head, nestling his face into the crook of her neck inhaling deeply. Her scent washed over him, familiar and comforting. He dug his fingers into her clothing and her back, pulling her as close as physically possible.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, over and over, “I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t mean for you to…” Nevena swallowed, “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t keep in touch with anyone after I went to Kirkwall.” Cullen told her, muffled by her clothing.

He felt her shake her head. “Don’t. If you don’t want to, I won’t–”

“I do want to.” Cullen told her, straightening to look at her. “I…  _need_  to. If I don’t it will be one more thing.” A slow, shaky sigh managed to make its way past his lips and he could feel his fear and panic beginning to settle. “I want to talk about it. Not here though.”

They returned to his tower, his safe place, his sanctuary.

Many of their companions had asked him how he didn’t go insane spending so much time within the same four walls, but the fact was he liked his tower.

He liked the broken roof, the piles of books, the two training dummies he kept on hand. It was  _his_  space, a luxury he had never experienced. As a child he shared a room with his brother and with the Templars he shared quarters, even in the position of Knight-Captain.

His tower at Skyhold was his, and he liked it, splintered timber and all.

Simply returning to it, closing the doors and seeing his familiar trappings made him feel calmer. More so when he followed Nevena up the ladder to his sleeping quarters and knew he could look up and see the sky from the safety of his bed.

Without speaking, Nevena set to helping him out of his armour, working buckles and straps with her fingers. Cullen was well versed in their removal, but his hands were shaking and though she said nothing he knew Nevena had noticed. He enjoyed how diligent she was though, how quickly her fingers worked and the small glimmer of satisfaction that appeared on her face when a piece of protective gear came away.

Their relationship was still young. They had spent the night together on more than one occasion, but slept only. Cullen found it odd and a little unsettling still to be around her without his armour on.

He wore it for protection, and not just protection from weaponry. It acted as a shield, keeping people at a safe distance. To be around Nevena and not wear it, he was exposing himself. Allowing himself to be vulnerable with her and allowing Nevena to see him being vulnerable.

She demonstrated him the same faith on several occasions, dropping her guard and showing a raw side of herself to him. It was still strange for them both to show such openness and honesty and trust to someone they both once had reasons to fear.

With each piece of metal removed, Cullen sat on the edge of his bed, Nevena beside him. He leaned forward, focusing on touching the tips of his fingers together. Such a simple thing, but it gave him a target, something to keep his attention as the last of his panic petered away.

“When I went to Kirkwall,” Cullen began, starting where they had left off, “I didn’t keep in touch with anyone from Ferelden. Most of my friends had…” he swallowed hard, Nevena lay a supportive hand on his back, stroking his spine gently. “Knight-Commander Greagoir wrote to me a few times, to see how I was settling in. I never wrote back. Not even my family knew where I was until they tracked me down. I wanted nothing to do with Ferelden. For months just the thought of it made me sick. I wanted to eradicate anything to do with it from my mind and … that included Carroll.”

Nevena waited for patiently for him to continue, her chin perched on his shoulder, her hand on his back moving in regular slow circles.

“We weren’t really friends. Acquaintances. I thought little of it - of him - in the years after the Blight.” Explained Cullen, his words beginning to fall from his mouth in a hurry to be released. “But now, knowing he succumbed to red lyrium and the Red Templars, that he became one of them… He was someone I knew, someone perhaps I could have reached out to.” He sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. “I can’t help feeling as if I should take some of the responsibility for Carroll’s outcome.”

“He was a grown man, Cullen.” Nevena explained, her tone soft but assured so he understood the significance behind her words. “I know logic won’t make it easier for you to understand or assuage the guilt you feel, but as far as we know, Carroll was responsible for his own actions and deeds and the choices he made.” Rising her hand from his back, Nevena began to stroke his hair once more, eking his curls out of the neat style Cullen painstakingly put them in each morning. “We don’t know the details of what got him involved with the Red Templars in the first place, but the letters written by him make it sound like he was a willing participant.” Cullen tilted his head to one side so the side of his temple touched Nevena’s forehead. “We also can’t know if your influence on him would have made things different. For either of you.”

Cullen looked at her in the low candle light, puzzled.

“You want to believe that being in touch with Carroll could have saved him, and that might have been the case.” Nevena spoke, moulding her tongue around her words thoughtfully. “But there’s the other possibility, that had you been in touch with him, Carroll could have had an influence on you and you both could have turned to the Red Templars.”

Cullen had to admit to himself that she had a point. There were so many variables to consider, the outcome could have been entirely different in many ways. Carroll could have been the one sitting in his place, leading the Inquisition’s armies with Nevena’s soft fingers in his hair. They could have both ended up with the Red Templars or with the Inquisition. They could have both died in the rebellion.

“You cannot -  _should not_  - blame yourself for Carroll’s fate.” Nevena concluded earnestly, offering a small supportive smile to him when Cullen turned his head to look at her. They stared at each other for a few seconds, and when Nevena spoke again her voice had lost the tint of anger it held before. “If you take blame for every former Templar who turned to them, it will eat away at you until there is nothing else left.”

“I know.” Cullen’s voice shuddered, “but… it will never sit right with me. The possibility that I could have done something. Changed his mind. Convinced him otherwise. Given him a purpose with the Inquisition.  _Anything_.” Slowly, he drew his hands down his face, rubbing his fingers into his tired eyes. “How do you move on from that?”

“Why not start with remembering him as he was, not as what he became.” Nevena suggested. “Pray for him, mourn the man you remember… It might not heal the hurt completely, but it’s a start.”

“Heal the hurt?” Cullen repeated, leaning his head back, both brows rising on his face.

“Sorry,” Nevena smiled sheepishly, “I suppose I’ve been spending too much time around Cole.”

Cullen chuckled, “no, no. It’s…” He sighed, “good advice.” Advice he wanted to act on at that moment, go pay his respects at the small Chantry that was in Skyhold. He had no idea if Carroll had a family, knew nothing of his parents or if he had any brothers or sisters. Suddenly he wanted to find out, to inform them of the man he had been.

As if sensing his desire, Nevena nudged him. “You go. I’ll still be here when you get back.” Cullen planted a kiss on her forehead, before descending his ladder.

The late hour meant most of Skyhold was asleep. The gardens, normally full of Chantry sisters, pilgrims, and nobles who had came to ogle at the strange location the Inquisition chose for its base, were quiet and vacant, a place of reflection and calm.

The room that which was converted to make a small Chantry was warm from the many candles still burning, and smelled strongly of incense so potent and sharp it burned Cullen’s nose to inhale when he walked in. He liked the small room, and how private it felt when the door was closed. A personal room of prayer for him and many others to have a moment of quiet and reflect.

For all the problems he had encountered as a Templar and being a part of the Chantry, the buildings were never one of them. He enjoyed them, the candles, the calmness, the prayers, the statues and the tributes. No matter which Chantry building he recalled, all the ones he recalled throughout his life provided him with solace and acceptance, serenity amidst calamity.

Lighting a candle from one already lit, he placed it down with several others before kneeling before Andraste’s image and clasping his hands together.

For some time Cullen was silent, simply thinking.

Remembering, not just Carroll but those friends he made and lost in Ferelden’s Circle. Those whose names and faces he tried to banish from his memory because they were too painful to recall. Those that filled him with guilt whenever he thought on them, knowing he survived and they did not. Men and women who were better than he was, and more deserving of life. Those whose lives were robbed from them prematurely and in the most cruel fashion.

When he spoke, his voice was thick and his tongue felt heavy, forming the words hesitantly at first, as if he had no right to be speaking them.

_“Draw your last breath, my friends,_  
Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky.  
Rest at the Maker’s right hand,  
And be Forgiven.”

He remained in the Chantry a little longer, bent over, his forehead pressed against his hands going over and over the names and faces of those he had known and lost. When he felt the familiar pull of tiredness winding around him Cullen departed, returning to his tower and his bed.

He found Nevena curled up under the covers, bundled against the cold with one of his shirts on over her own clothes. The smile she greeted him with made his stomach flutter. He watched her stretch, lithe and cat-like, as he pulled off his boots.

Silently, Cullen climbed under the covers, the awkwardness he had felt with her in times past not present. Nevena shuffled across the bed towards him, seeking his warmth, curling herself up into a ball. Cullen nuzzled her forehead.

“How do you feel?” Asked Nevena, peering up at him from beneath her hair.

“Strange.” Cullen told her, his mouth grazing her temple, “as if…” he struggled a little, “I feel like I’ve lost something that was sitting on my shoulders.”

Nevena leaned back, smiled and lay a soft, affectionate kiss on his lips. “Good.” She murmured, “I’m glad.”

Once more she snuggled against him, wrapping herself up in his arms, and him in hers, sharing warmth and comforted by the sound of the other breathing. Slowly Cullen succumbed to sleep, feeling a lightness and contentment around and within him that he had forgotten.


End file.
